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Orphan Relief and Rescue



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Bizarro Day

Most days here in Liberia strange things happen, but some days the entire country seems to be doing everything backwards. We call those bizarro days. Today was definitely one of those days. It all starts when Andrew, Matt, and I are driving into town and the traffic pattern has a stranger than normal feel. Taxis cutting us off. UNMIL trucks stopped dead in the road. We go to Randall Street in the heart of Monrovia to see our friends, Mohammed and Mohammed at Auto Spare Services, which we bought our generator from. Unlike in America where you go to K-Mart, buy something, take it home, and only go back if you need to buy something else, in Liberia you have to maintain the relationships with retailers so that you will continue to get good deals. So every once and awhile we need to make the rounds and see everyone that we have bought anything from, and sometimes business owners that we have not gotten anything from. So we see that Mohammed and Mohammed are well but it doesn't stop there. I got sat on a tiny bench only a foot off the ground, Andrew is in a chair next to me, and Matt is leaning on a gigantic generator. Mohammed and Mohammed assume their spots behind the painted green counter. Now that everyone is in position we have to take Lebanese coffee. I enjoy coffee very much but if you have never had this particular brew it is something you must experience. The coffee is very strong, a little bitter, and almost leaves a chalky consistency in the mouth. It is served in shot glass sized coffee mugs with no handles. They must be hard to come by here because most are chipped, cracked, or look aged. Mohammed and Mohammed's coffee is usually very hot and it takes a long time to sip it down. All the while an awkward conversation is going on. Matt "So how is business?' Mohammed "It's small small." Matt "Well it is rainy season." Mohammed "Yes, dry season business is good." This continues in a similar manner for a while, five men sipping coffee from mini-mugs making niceties and staring at each other. We finally kill the coffee, which means we have met our obligation in the relationship. Then it starts to rain… hard. I look outside and I have to make a choice. Get wet or stay for more conversation. If we stay any longer lunch will be served and I don't feel ready for that today. I bolt out in the rain for the car. Bizarro.
Matt drops Andrew and I off at our other friend Ali. We are renting a Nissan Pathfinder from him for the team from Texas. I feel I need to clarify this cast of characters at this point because it will move fast and don't want you to get lost. Now Ali is the brother of the Mohammed from Building Material Center or BMC. BMC employs Mohammed, Mohammed, and Mohammed as well as another Ali. So there is Mohammed and Mohammed, Ali, and Mohammed, Mohammed, Mohammed, and Ali. I am not making this up. We bought our car from Ali at the car lot's brother Mohammed. Ali works for their uncle who imports vehicles into the country. So it is still raining and Andrew and I are standing in a car lot waiting for Ali to get there. This is not a car lot in the traditional sense of paved parking lot and guys in suits telling you what you want to hear. This is more like a gravel lot with a bunch of used cars and 4x4s and a slew of Liberian guys standing around while a few are working on vehicles. Andrew and I walk around and inspect some of the cars. I see a foot under a car. It is not jacked up or anything. It would not surprise me if it were just a foot. The fact that a man was attached to it working in a very small space seems even more improbable to me. Ali finally shows about fifteen minutes later. We go into the small, padlocked office at the back of the lot. He sits behind the desk and we sit in two Ghanaian made plastic chairs. An old Liberian man comes in and asks him how he wants the rental agreement. Andrew tells him we only need the car for two days so the old guy leaves to draw up the papers. Andrew starts the conversation "How is business?" Ali "It's small small." And so on. Twenty minutes later the old man comes back in with a hand written receipt. Ali scolds him because it is not a typed rental agreement. He sends the old man away. It is too late in the day for coffee so Ali sends someone for sodas for us. They come back with two cokes and Ali gets two Lebanese wraps that he offers us for lunch. We start talking about orphanages and what we do with the relief program. Ali has a friend in the port that imports most of the rice for the country and he would be able to get us a better price if we buy enough. He calls the guy and Andrew talks to him. It all seems so ridiculous but this is how business is done here: coffee, cokes, and phone calls to friends. The price is never discussed only quantity. Businessmen always say "We are friends now so price doesn't matter." They don't understand budgetary constraints. While we are having this conversation I can hear the typewriter going in the next room. A keystroke every few seconds. This could take forever. More and more awkward and finally he comes back into the room. The old man reads the rental agreement aloud like a medieval herald giving proclamation to all the land. We shake hands and Ali takes us out into the lot to the best vehicle out there. He is renting us his personal car. Bizarro.
While all of this is going on Andrew has sent one of our security guys to Red-light, a major market area, to secure a van for the Texas team. Moses in normally an absolute gong show but sometimes he has these moments where he can really hustle. He has now gone from Red-light to downtown with a guy that owns a bunch of vans. We get into Ali's Pathfinder and we are immediately consumed by Lebanese pop music, a cross between early 90's trance beats, Celine Dion grandiosity, and Bollywood nightmarish dance sequence vocals. We drive two blocks and Moses is flagging us down in the rain. We are hurried into a concrete block shack with a tin roof. It is still raining and it is only getting worse. The shack is half full of wooden benches and half full of used tires. The guy running the vans looks very familiar, like common white guys features on an African. He tells us that the van is on its way from Red-light and will be there soon. We wait and wait and finally the van shows. It says John Long in big green letters with a yellow outline. I have seen a bunch of these busses around before. I noticed them because John Long used to run the family camp in Dunkirk, New York that we went to as kid. John died a few years ago and I have wanted to get a picture of me with the van to send to his family. These busses, however, are right hand drivers from Ireland. They normally seat twelve but this is Africa so I estimate at least eighteen people could be packed in. Andrew went out into the van to take a look. The owner of the van, some guy in a suit, the driver, Moses, and some other guy all piled in with him. The negotiations have started. The bus was parked pretty much in the middle of the street and it was almost impassable by traffic in either direction. It was raining even harder now as I watched all these guys piled into a bus. There seemed to be a lot of talking and the windows quickly fogged up. It must have been like a sauna in there. Outside, though, Africa was still occurring. Guys in flip flops washing their feet in the rain runoff on the side of the street. One guys did it and I thought to myself "That can't be normal, this whole city is like a toilet, nobody would wash their feet in this, that guy must be nuts." I almost finished the thought when another guy crossed the street and did the same thing. Bizarro.
The negotiations finished and we got back in the car and left. On the way out of town we got pulled over by the same police officer that had hassled me a few weeks ago about driving in flip flops. He stood in front of the car and yelled to Andrew to turn on his parking lights. Something was getting lost in translation and he could see that so in Liberian fashion he yelled it louder, faster, and twice. "Your parking lights, parking lights!!!" Andrew finally realized he meant the hazard lights. He came around to the driver's side and asked Andrew for his driver's license. Fortunately he had it on him. The guy looked at it and asked where it was from. Andrew told him it was Canadian. The officer said, "You are charged with misuse of a driving instrument but since you are here to help my country I will let you go." He walked away and we just looked at each other like "What the heck is going on?" We drove back to Fatu's Orphanage and things started to go back to normal. That is just one of many bizarre days here. A weird vibe everywhere I go and the whole day just leaves me feeling like it was all an elaborate joke. Bizarro.

Wednesday, May 2 2007

Today we went to two orphanages out near Red-light. Both have been closed at least a year and the children are still there. The first had no food because the WFP has finally cut them off. Many of the children had chicken pox and for the most part looked malnourished. They are so resilient however, hamming it up for the camera and playing little games with us. It makes it hard to show the desperation of their situation when they are so over the top with the camera. It's almost as if they don't realize how bad their conditions are. Time and time again it's just a few tattered mattresses on the bare concrete floor. It is all so common place it almost seems clichéd sharing it with people at home. We left a bag of rice and Matt and I talked briefly with the director, Reverend Kofa, about portion sizes. He seemed receptive but it just seems these guys are just waiting to be rescued. There is no initiative on their part. They were cooking inside the house for Gods sake. When we got back home we did a little research on this guy and he only had 19 children last year. Now he is up to 48. I don't get the thought process. If you can't provide for the first 19 and you get shut down what is the point in taking on another 29. It is so angering and frustrating. On the other hand, though, most of these directors really do care about the children. Maybe he just had to take them in. Friday we are going to have the difficult conversation with Kofa about reunifying the children. We can't help unless he agrees. If we can get him down under ten real orphans then he can have a foster home that is so much more manageable. The whole deal is so very frustrating with this feeding program. I feel like this is going to be where I am going to excel this time but none of us are getting a great vibe about any of the orphanages we have seen. I desperately want God to just give me some sort of insight into how this is supposed to look and whom we are supposed to help. I feel like I am ready to have these hard conversations and to do the teaching that comes with the undertaking of a feeding program. It can be so hard to teach common sense to people that are much older than me. I don't want to be to heavy handed. To be the all-knowing white man does not appeal to me, but at some point I do know more than they do. The second orphanage was a guy with 35 kids that got evicted from his home and they were staying on the porch of another orphanage that has been closed since 2004. The whole thing had a really bad vibe. It was a sizable compound with broken down vehicles littering the grounds and lots of building. We toured the entire facility and there was plenty of space for everyone but they would only let the evicted director, Marcus, have a porch of one of the buildings. When we were walking around we met two of the older boys. They both had cell phones and nicer watches. I just did not like the whole situation. Before we left we gave them each a bag of rice. Then the old lady gathered all the kids and they sang a song about helping orphans. It all seemed so rehearsed. I did not like it. I doubt we will be helping them. When we got home Mariel and I started playing some wiffle ball and it started raining. The guys came out too and we played for at least an hour or two. They kept hitting homers over the wall and we would all run out and try to find the ball. Steven from across the way came up to me all freaked out like there was something wrong. I explained to him that we were playing baseball and Mariel had hit a home run. He said "For true?" It was hilarious for our neighbors and us as we played in the rain that Africans stay away from.

Update on Westpoint

The place never sat right with me. My gut told me from the moment I stepped through the door of that ugly, abandoned warehouse that something wasn't right. And not just that it was a terrible place for kids to be living, but that kids probably weren't living there at all; that the caretakers who obviously had no idea how to take care of kids probably weren't; and that this director, who had sought me out through the internet, was probably more of an entrepreneur than anything.

After running my very unsettled impressions past the rest of the team, we contacted our friend and colleague in charge of child protection at UNICEF to ask her advice. She suggested a joint assessment with the Child Protection Task Force, the body in charge of accrediting and closing orphanages in Liberia. So I took them there, a not-so-official looking convoy of officials through the winding laneways and alleyways of the poorest market area in Monrovia, to this warehouse. We arrived ahead of the director, so I began the tour without him:
The 10' x 10' room where 19 boys supposedly sleep.
The dirt-floor, no-window warehouse that is their dining room, play area, rain shelter.
The alleyway "school".
The well covered only by a metal grate, the water table only a foot below ground.

The assessment team -- UNICEF, the Ministry of Health & Social Welfare, UNMIL, Le Page and myself -- exchange skeptical looks. The representative from UNICEF addresses the class, and begins gathering information from the children about where they're from, whether they have parents in the community, how long they've been here, etc. Very interesting answers from the kids as they get more and more excited about telling their stories: "I'm from Ghana! I came here with my uncle two weeks ago!" ("Good, clap for him!")

I begin talking to one of the older boys, asking the names of the other kids. None of the names his friends answer to are on the list. "So where is... Moses? Is Moses here?" No, Moses has gone to school. Only two of the 28 on the list are present, even though there are 28 seated in the alleyway-school, 19 boys and 9 girls just as there should be.

The director then arrives, and we plow through the questionnaire part of the assessment. I had asked most of the questions previously, but only a Liberian can really get answers out of a Liberian -- I marvel at how the story develops as the questions chase his answers round in circles. "We established in 2003" becomes "I started this orphanage two months ago" in less than ten minutes.

We thank everyone, thank the children, and walk back to the vehicles. On one hand, we're upset that children are being left in the care of these young and clearly irresponsible caregivers; on the other hand, we're glad that the kids are from the community, and not living in the "orphanage" at all. Most likely the director and matron live there with their children -- that's certainly what it looks like from the state of things -- and the children come in as a sort of daycare arrangement from market families. In a week we meet again to discuss our observations and to make recommendations, and it becomes from there the Ministry's problem to deal with. They will suggest to the director that he reorganize as a daycare, and will look into finding a qualified teacher for the children. Beyond that, we can only monitor to try to ensure that other organizations don't become benefactors to a fraud.

A tale of two orphanages

Yesterday I visited two orphanages for the first time. The first was in Westpoint, one of the very poorest market areas in Monrovia, literally falling piece by piece into the sea. The director contacted me through our website, and despite my hesitations I finally agreed to visit his “orphanage”.What I found was difficult to take in – it was not unlike other homes I’d seen (destitute: rocky dirt floors, leaky roof, no windows, over-crowded bedrooms stinking of urine), but it struck me deeper. Because so much of this job is teaching accountability, being skeptical, ensuring food isn’t sold and kids aren’t abused, it’s easy to become hard-hearted. So yesterday, as I was being told the story of these children coming together in crisis, of escaping to a refugee camp and eventually returning to inhabit this abandoned warehouse and half of an alleyway, I caught myself thinking, This is bad, but it’s not the worst; you’re not so hard done by… I realized that, somewhere along the line, either for self-defense or by acclimatization, my compassion has been eroded. I always love the children wherever I go, but I sometimes allow my mistrust of the directors to prevent my helping the kids.Then, later the same day, the polar opposite situation: 35 kids in a nurturing, disciplined environment under a director with initiative, drive, and genuine concern. They have built several buildings using homemade materials, and have maintained them beautifully – in all, a pristine orphanage. All they need is food. Yet I caught myself again: here’s a situation where all the attitudes we look for are in action, but it’s worked so well that I hesitate to help because, well, it’s already such a good situation: the kids are healthy, happy, and well provided for. So, because they don’t need as much help, should they be denied the help they do need? And as for Westpoint, should those kids suffer if their caregiver is a little hopeless? Of course not, on both counts. Sometimes the responsibility of sorting out where to do our most with our little gets to be too much.It was a good day. A day I needed. No numbers, no books. Just kids, alone time, driving, God. Tomorrow, the team -- resuppliers of energy, cheer, and souvenirs of home.

The first days

For me this whole thing started back in 2005. I was serving on Mercy Ships as the Dining Room Manager. It was a great job and I got to work with some amazing people. While I was there became friends with Matt Le Page and the Pratts. They were doing construction at an orphanage that was in terrible conditions. I was there in those first days and I could not believe that anyone could live like this let alone children. The orphanage was receiving very little help for food and so I kind of took that as my mission. To feed these kids. Construction went quickly and I kept bringing food every Saturday and I just fell in love with the children there. Our time was short though nice we were about to sail to Ghana. It was a teary goodbye because I wasn’t sure I would ever see them again, But God brought me back. In June I flew home from Accra and tried to restart my life. I moved from Ohio to North Carolina with my brother and things were just never comfortable. I left NC for New York City in January to volunteer with charity:water, an organization founded by my good friend Scott Harrison. I drove the water show across the country to the Sundance Film Festival in Utah. We were there for three weeks and then returned to New York. I had a really tough time finding a job and a place to live. I feel like God was closing a lot of doors in New York but he opened the door to come and work with Orphan Relief and Rescue. I had actually turned down an offer to join ORR in November. At that point I was trying to go back to school and make the move to NYC. Never the less I called Matt and asked him if there was still a spot open to go back to Liberia. Sure enough there was. The next day I was on a train back to Ohio to do some fundraising before I left for Texas two weeks later. We spent a few weeks in Texas putting the finishing touches on our trip. We flew from Dallas to Frankfurt and only had 20 minutes to get through security and immigration before we had to be on our flight to Brussels. Of course we all got stopped at security for water bottles, computers and I got stopped for my box of business cards. German efficiency however got us through and we made it to gate as they were boarding. On to Brussels. A little more time between flights then a long flight to Freetown Sierra Leone. On the way to Monrovia the president of Liberia Her Excellency Madam Ellen Johnson Sirleaf came through. She shook hands with everyone did a few pictures and then went back to business class. I finally made it back to Liberia. I had loved this country and been away for about a year. I always wanted to come back but I was not sure I would. I stepped out of the plane and the first blast of hot tropical air hit me and condensated instantly on my air-conditioned skin. The smell of Liberia is unique, like hot trash and charred grass. It filled my nose. It was a bizarre comfort. I felt like I was finally home…